Fulfillment
by TheAuthorC
Summary: Seven months after Christine left, Erik has freed himself from the silent prison of  emotional distress he placed himself in to cope with his loss. Rage has returned with this newfound freedom, and with it the need for startling and unexpected revenge.
1. Revelation

**Author's Note: I do not own any aspect of Phantom of the Opera. Credit goes to Leroux/Kay **

**Now that we have established this, Enjoy. **

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As I allow my thoughts to swirl aimlessly, I come to a sudden and shocking revelation that would probably be deemed obvious to most but somehow remained overlooked by me. Not only have I stripped myself of all the dignity I once possessed with my depressive, lovesick attitude, but I have allowed the relationship between a weak, overconfident viscount with the complexion of a young woman and a foolish young soprano to destroy the legendary Opera Ghost. When my dream of love and marriage shattered that fateful night, I have hardly been the same.

The first month after Miss Daaé left the Opéra Populaire, I kept myself together, only due to the need for my own survival. After that night of bitter disappointment, I was absolutely sure of two things. First, there would be an investigation into the death of Count De Chagny, and that meant officers would be wandering about. Second, those looking to end the life of the Opera Ghost after the destructive and murderous reign he had over the opera would hear the tales the viscount was babbling on about, and my home would end up stormed by idiots who have no patience to hear another side to the story.

It was clear in my mind that I had to move, rebuild, and start somewhat anew. Traveling through the dark corridors of the underground, I managed to find a dark corner that suited my vision. That's the wonderful part about living under the opera, even if a man set out to search the entire area, there would always be some corner he missed. And this is where I chose to build my new home, the darkest corner I could find. Using resources I had, I managed to use the beams supporting the opera as support structure for my home. It only took a bit of stonework and grand creativity; it delighted me I still had my carpentry skills as it ended up being more beautiful than I had thought it could be. Oh if only I was not working and living in secret! How I would love to see disbelief on my guests' faces as I informed them I and I alone was responsible for the architecture. Silly dreams though, I have learned all to well my dreams are always laughable when spoken out loud.

I moved most of my furnishings from the lair, though I wondered if I was being foolish by bringing so much when I would spend the rest of my miserable life completely and utterly alone. No one would see my lavish decor, so there was little purpose, but I decided there was no harm in it really; arranging it all gave me something to do. After dismantling the torture chamber and throwing the pieces to a pile, my eyes caught sight of the room for Christine, and I thought of the furniture I had chosen specifically for her. As I placed my gloved hand to the doorknob, I froze, asking myself why to bother with such a thing. At first it seemed most logical to relocate her room in case she would return one day; after all, I had extra space. At this thought, my body tensed then as I realized that there was no chance she would return, and it was time to destroy that foolish hope. Leaving the door closed and removing my hand, I wasted no time in setting the remaindered of my former home ablaze, and watching the contained fire burn. I thought it would be a symbolic blaze, representing my freedom from the past and a new future, but the opposite occurred. Afterwards, I felt as if I had burned down the floodgate holding my raw emotion back.

Yes, the sight of the fire had revealed far too much to me, reminded me of the loss I suffered; no matter how I may have deserved the pain. When I arrived back at my dark corner, preparing to lie down as weariness began to settle in, I suddenly lost control. Embracing the emotions I tried to flee from, the mass confusion began. At some point, I collapsed to the floor, sobbing, screaming, and raving like a madman; after thirty days of remaining mostly calm and collected (except for when I spoke to the Persian and made an absolute fool of myself), it was only to be expected. Everything was vivid and yet blurred; for I was no longer in the lonely living room, but rather trapped in the past, memories the only thing visible and hardly clear. Placing my hands to my head I tried to make the images of beautiful Christine disappear, but even I, the greatest magician could not pull off such a trick. It was such great agony for what seemed like days, as I laid on the ground lost in this emotional breakdown. The kiss, oh the kiss between the two lovers played over and over in my head. And then came the reminder of how my love had tried to take her own life to avoid a life with me. While I wept over all of these things, I call out all of my thoughts of love, all of the things I wish I would have said. By the time the weeping finally ended, I had simply been repeating her sweet name. Eventually it ended; I was greeted by a welcoming silence as I could see I had returned to the corner. As I slowly rose on shaky legs, removing my mask to wipe the tears, and swallowing hard as my throat ached from the screams, I could only feel my body tense in fear of what could come next.

I am a master at the art of torture. Just ask anyone who has spent time in my torture chamber; though it would be hard to find someone, as all but two have gone fully mad and ended their lives to escape. And due to my self-loathing and hatred of my own existence, I suddenly found myself using the methods on a victim I had never expected…myself.

After the breakdown, I began to force myself into the silent prison I am just now breaking free from. It began with the end of my music, the end of my passion in that regard. Every time I placed my fingers on the keys, the felt as if I was touching a flame. Every time I thought of singing a gentle melody to comfort me through the long days, I would feel a terrible tightening in my throat. I burned my sheet music as it taunted me so endlessly, and a sheet remains draped over my piano. I lost all desire to return to the Opera, to regain my position as Opera Ghost. I ended up no longer leaving to head aboveground as there was no desire, and I felt that this was where a demon like myself should remain. I had built myself a magnificent home, but slowly it and my mind were boxing me into this silent prison which I could not break free from.

While the world around me was silent, my mind was not, memories and words racing through my mind constantly. I would sit all day, unmasked face in my hands, rocking slightly, as I allowed myself to be haunted by the past, to stay trapped in it. My thoughts cried out for Christine, cried out for the loss while no sound left my lips, and each day I felt my heart being ripped to even smaller shreds. I criticized myself and went over each of the rambling words I said to my love, to my friend, to my rival, and I only now see how I wish to take each one back and explain my thoughts. Every detail had to be relieved, every other option in the situation had to be explored; it had become a sick routine.

But now, now as I stumble along this revelation, I raise my head and pause for a moment. In this moment, I am breaking free from this prison as my temper rises up through me, heating the mental bars keeping me back, bending them back and setting me free. My heart leaps back upward, the sinking sensation leaves. No longer do I feel weariness on my shoulders, no longer do I feel like a lovesick schoolboy with a fantasy crush; I am a man again. Rising from my seat with a sudden leap, as my mind begins to race and run.

It is clear now that I am putting far too much of the blame on myself, saying that I caused all of this sorrow for myself is simply and utterly ridiculous! The world has taught a once innocent boy that the only way to get what you want in the world is to lie, cheat, steal and murder; especially when you have a face like mine. Yes, the world is to blame!

To be mocked and teased, taunted and hunted like some rabid animal! And when I find a lovely girl who cares for me, why should others have to interfere? I never meant for the threats and the terror, but once they began playing with me and pushing my limits, I had to act the way I did. I wanted her to have the best life, a life of adventure and excitement!

Never the life the Viscount will provide; a life of dullness where the wife is expected to act as a servant to her husband, is considered only useful for reproduction, and is only respected if a son is born. She was meant to be more, meant to have a husband who would cater to her every wish! Who would support her in the idea of having a career and not just being a mother! Oh how I loathe the foolish staff of the damn Opéra Populaire who convinced her she wanted to be someone who mattered she would have to be a De Chagny!

The rage is nearly unbearable as I think of it all! To finally understand the blame rests on others than myself is wonderful, freeing even. As I look to all the characters who played a part in this tragedy, I see blame lies with each of them, even beautiful Christine. And now I understand that someone will pay for the hardship and loss, a plan is forming as a grin crosses my lips. After six months of not speaking, my first word escapes the grin.

"Revenge."


	2. Consumed

**Author's note: I do not own any aspect of Phantom of the Opera. **

**Thank you to katiebabs and Genevieve Lee for your encouraging reviews! This has been written late at night as I wanted to publish the next chapter, and I hope it lives up to the first.**

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But revenge does not come instantly…well good revenge does not. After the grin fades and my mind begins to process all the possible plots, I realize I can not risk a rash action when going about this. For if I am to be fully satisfied, if I am to get the closure I desperately need, planning and pondering are required.

I am like a young boy again as I sit at my desk, the sheets of parchment before me. My newfound thoughts and emotions seem so foreign, both exciting and intimidating. Indulging in thoughts of such bitterness is unusual after the six months of hatred only being directed towards myself; pitying all the others I had gotten caught in my attempt to make daft dreams reality. Now those thoughts have been reversed; everyone else is to be hated, I am innocent. I only wanted happiness; I meant no harm…the actions of other fools caused my actions, caused me to kill.

These moments of trying to migrate back into my former more wicked persona are difficult, my mind is trying to push me back into my cell, trying to guilt me into giving up my ideas of hate. But as soon as I place my pen to the paper, my mind lost its battle; I am not returning to that self-destructive cycle, that dark and frightening place. Not much can strike terror in a heart like mine, but the thoughts of my quality of life during the past 183 days sends a terrible chill down my spine.

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Hours must have past as I wrote and sketched, eventually becoming completely focused on the task of finding the best way to make those responsible pay. Who should die? Who should live? With a lighthearted melody leaving my lips, I eagerly reviewed the best ways to take a life, ran different scenarios through. At the time I had no idea that my freedom included being able to return to music, there was simply too much excitement in these darker thoughts.

As the pen now drops, my bony hand wipes across my sweaty brow in both excitement and frustration. While I am overjoyed that my work proved revenge is completely feasible and will be extremely enjoyable, I am still uncharacteristically unsure the route I should take. This startles me, as I am more likely to be overly confident in a plan than undecided. My slender fingers drum against the desktop, as I hate feeling any confusion, especially around things that are my specialty.

Looking through my freshly written notes, I scan over my messy writing once more. My penmanship has always upset me; the childish letters take so much away from the elegance of the words I write. However, at the moment I'm hardly studying the crocked characters for any beauty, but rather looking for anything to get this revenge in motion.

But I am terribly disappointed as I cannot find such an instant answer, and with a pathetic pout, I rise from my seat and turn away from the table. Idiot! Idiotic failure! Now I am back to where I began, and more frustrated than ever. With an angry snarl, my body whirls around at an intense speed as my hands reach to all the work I have just completed. Papers flutter through the air, landing about, and I realize that I've just made a great mess for myself, not accomplishing anything. Stupid childish tantrums, how could I have forgotten? With the return of rage, I should have expected this would begin; a habit I always mean to correct but never can.

Perhaps I have simply lost touch with humanity, perhaps I have forgotten about the characters involved in my downfall. Yes! That's it! I simply need a refresher course and simply need to figure how much of the blame lies with those involved. A plan forms in my mind as I begin to dress in the classic clothing of the dreaded Opera Ghost; not a plan for revenge, but simply a plan regarding research for a revenge plot. Besides, so much has probably changed since the last appearance of the Opera Ghost; for all I know, some may have already received what they deserved.

Throwing the cape around my neck, I cannot help but smile. How wonderful it is to step back into my old familiar character; how wonderful to embrace this phantom and feared figure. I actually feel joy as I slip the mask to my face, for it means I am finally breaking away from cowardly hiding; I finally shall taste the power I have always loved again. Taking a moment to fix the faux black locks into a more natural looking position around my face, I then turn, and with a breath, begin that familiar journey to the world above my hell.

Though my steps begin a little hesitantly, I manage to conquer my slight discomfort, and quicken my pace. For even after time away, I easily remember the paths of the Opéra Populaire and I am able to navigate my way through the rafters, a completely freeing feeling rising in my chest. My movements are surprisingly swift as I have hardly moved in such a long time. Soon I find myself at my destination, the place where I know I should be able to learn a little about the current world. Perching myself towards the thin wall, I look to the slight crack in the wood, the peephole I once used to watch Christine. Gossip would be following from the ballet rats' dressing room, and though most of it would be useless babble, I may hear something useful.

From the sound of the girls racing frantically, I assume a performance is either beginning or has already begun. Most of the foolish girls are giggling or complaining about trivial matters. I begin to feel the same annoyed feelings, and this time the payoff for listening to this seems so less grand than catching sight of the beautiful Christine. The moment I prepare to leave with great disappointment, something finally catches my attention.

From the sound of the girls racing frantically, I assume a performance is either beginning or has already begun. Most of the foolish girls are giggling or complaining about trivial matters. I begin to feel the same annoyance, and this time the payoff for listening to this seems so less grand than catching sight of the beautiful Christine. My mind drifts at the thought of Christine and the way things should be at this moment, when suddenly, a conversation between two of the rats catches my attention.

"I wouldn't be gettin' myself too excited, Emma," A skinny redhead quickly, interrupts blonde's excited announcement of everything going perfectly in this night's opera. "After all, you never know if the Opera Ghost-"

"Please, no more about that ridiculous legend…" This 'Emma' cuts in the bubbly excitement leaving her expression and voice. A frown forms upon my own face as I almost take this as a slight personal attack. Has my respect been lost? For though I hate to even think about it, it seems my name is no longer feared. Is the power truly gone? "Every performance you have to go on and on about a man who has probably already ended his life…if he was even alive to begin with."

The redhead sighs and rises from her seat in front of the vanity after finally seeming satisfied with the stage make-up coating her face. "Seven months is not such a long time, after a seven month disappearance, he could easily return." A slight smirk is worn on her thin lips as she continues, "Especially tonight, especially since they've decided to take away his private seat, perhaps he's been watching the performances from Box Five…tonight he'll find someone else has made himself comfortable."

A moment passes of undeniable emotions. Stunned. I can only be stunned at this news. My box? They've decided to allow patrons to sit in my box? Heat courses through my body, as my hands tremble with thoughts of malice. I can not bring myself to heave the response of the blonde, as her bubbly laughter and the chorus of giggles from the other rats confirms my fear that I have truly lost all respect. I am no more than a frightening monster made up by a mother to frighten her young children. And now I begin to fly from this place, moving more quickly than before as I must learn who this unfortunate patron is.

The thoughts continue as I move, the anger is something I simply cannot ignore. How dare they take away what is mine! They should be thankful I left for awhile; they were free of terror for awhile! Instead they declare themselves better than I? That I am nothing to fear just because I lost a single battle? Oh I see how time causes erosion in the minds of men! They do not remember what I can do. Reaching to my belt, I feel a sense of thankfulness that I have brought my sword which I have not picked up in such a long time. I brought it for protection, and it is revealed to me now that I must protect the name I created so long ago!

I choose a different route on my way to box five; a route that will allow the best dramatic entrance, that people may catch a glimpse of the shadow of the Opera Ghost so they may tell their friends and acquaintances that he is all but dead. I thought the rage of the past crimes against me was intense, but it is nothing compared to the fact there is crime being committed at this very moment.

After I have raced through the halls I feel a slight disappointment at the fact no one is about, that no one catches a glimpse of me. Part of the excitement of being the Phantom is the chance of being caught. But I move on, closer to my destination. The music ringing about is all too common, lacking any beauty or excitement. I notice there is a new soprano singing away, and feel a sense of surprise not at the fact Christine has left, but the fact Carlotta has not pushed her way into the slot, back into the spotlight. Quickly I drop these rambling thoughts, allowing mind to focus on looking to the private box which truly belongs to me. Glancing to this former second home, I realize that there has been a minor change. The number has been removed, no sign that this was ever the box that all of Paris knew as the Opera Ghost's seat.

No time to think of such things, no time to think at all. There is no doubt in my mind that my coming actions are not only justifiable, but completely right, completely acceptable. There is no restrain in my mind; nothing holding me back from action on these emotions. How I love the feeling caused by embracing the fury in my soul!

Gripping the burgundy curtain, I can wait no longer, and smile at the fact this first act of revenge against the Opera Populaire is perhaps better than any of those plots I had spent hours planning. Taking a breath and preparing to act and speak, preparing to express that the murders about to occur were my handiwork, I waste no more time in revealing the unfortunate patrons.

As I reveal to myself who this vile patron is, I have to admit a bit of shock. This is unexpected, but by no means a tragedy. In fact, this is better than I could have imagined the answer to my dilemma of where to begin! Oh it looks like I must act a little rashly, for this changes everything, but gives me the opportunity for an even more dramatic revenge. As I draw my gleaming sword, I cannot help but grin, for in my mind, in this second, a plot is quickly forming. Time to speak, time to announce my presence…

"Well, well...the toad returns to the Opera?" And I while I believed for a moment the obnoxious off-key soprano would scream, the look of terror on her face give me that certain feeling that Carlotta, power-loving Carlotta, realizes control has just slipped from her delicate, gloved fingers.


	3. Conversation

**Author's Note:**

**I have actually returned to this story! Thanks to bwayphantomrose for giving me the kick I needed to start it up again. I figured this tale was totally ruined as I deleted chapters three and four for editing and then found that I didn't have chapter three saved on this computer. But I've simply done my best to combine three and four together and actually think it may read a bit smoother.**

And by the way, I do not own any aspect of Phantom of the Opera.

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The next hour is one that went by quickly and looking back from my current situation the details of the events are ones that are not that important at this point. Carlotta did not scream, even as she watched her gentleman companion die at the hand of my sword. Perhaps it was due to shock that I was able to drag her down to my home beneath the Opera without great commotion, without anyone catching on. I could have killed her then and there, but I needed answers, many answers and the prima donna seemed like the perfect one to share everything.

And now, after tying those small, ungloved wrists together and above her head and tying her feet together so chances of escaping were greatly decreased, I have waited, waited for her to stop her soft sobbing for long enough to learn what has happened in the seven months since I have been absent. But just as I prepare to simply threaten my unwilling guest, a question leaves her lips that catches me off-guard completely.

"Why have you let yourself become such a monster?"

Her question echoes in my head, in that rapid-firing manner that forced me into my past breakdown; the way the thoughts bounced about as I completely lost what was left of mental stability. I bite my lip as my gaze instantly drops to my feet, all plans for torment dropping from my mind. Of every single question she could ask…why was that the one? Come on dear! Your life is obviously at stake, and that's the first question you finally ask?!

This is not the way this should be going. She should not be asking questions regarding anything on this topic! She should be screaming, yelling, and pleading…not this. Is it possible I am hearing things? Could that be the answer to this confusing, unnatural captive behavior? It has to be! It's the only thing that makes any sense in this situation. I mumble inaudibly about how this is not happening and I am simply going mad, but am cut off.

"Haven't you ever loved anyone?" Carlotta speaks in a tone that is simply not hers; gentle, breathy, with sniffles still mixing in with these words I cannot believe are coming from her. "Haven't you ever cared for anyone in your whole existence?"

As my gaze rises from the floor, I turn my body away at a sluggish pace. I cannot meet her eyes, cannot watch her as she speaks. How can she ask such a thing? Of course I have loved! She was still working at the opera when I tried to fulfill my lovesick dreams. Did those above the surface take my actions as actions of hate? Besides, how does this have anything to do with her first question? How have they told my story above? Is it merely a horror tale ballet rats are told to frighten them into behaving? That the Phantom will rise from the floor and drag a girl to the underworld if they misbehave? The thought makes my ill feeling worse, knowing that it is mostly likely my name will always be linked with murder and hate instead of love.

But La Carlotta still seems to maintain her desire for constant, unwavering attention, and simply takes my silence as a cue for her to continue on. "Think of that person, think of how you cared so much for them. Imagine the time you spent with them. And then in a moment, they are struck down before your eyes." Her voice is irritating even though she speaks of such sorrow in a most elegant way, as I can hardly stand what she speaks of; the images it brings to mind.

I finally speak, turning sharply as I beg the fury to control me! "And what does this have to do with anything!?" My voice rings through the cellar in a most intimidating way; but I lack the confidence I speak with. "Love and myself? The two do not belong in the same sentence! The same story even!" A few steps are taken forward as I try to clear my mind and bring it back to the previous state. "You are drawing the loveliest lines with your words, bold and strong, but you completely lack any connection between them. Are you just speaking to delay what your fate will be?"

After a moment of silence (a moment which I quickly sweep the memories she has conquered into the darkest corner of my mind to deal with at a later time when I am alone and stronger) she finally connects everything up. "If you have ever loved anyone a day in your life," her voice is soft again, but still seems eerie coming from La Carlotta, "you would have to be a monster to take away anyone's lover."

I try to ponder her words, but I cannot. If I let myself take them in, I will surely fall to the ground and fight out this battle in my mind in a most disturbing way as I did previously; it will seal the diagnoses of insanity. Instead I stare, stare past this dazed woman, and try to allow myself to drift away. But as always, she will not allow me to have anything I want.

"Walter." The name comes suddenly, cutting through the silence which I needed to compose myself and end this nonsense. "Walter Stevenson." A look which lightens up her pale features drifts upon her visage, and I begin to see where her random questions of love came from. "We were to wed in July; I had already planned so many aspects of the ceremony…" I can see that the tears are forming in the corner of her now puffy eyes; so the gentleman murdered actually meant something to the lady. I had been sure a long time ago the only person whom would ever matter to Carlotta was herself.

"It was a six month whirlwind romance. There had been a friendship for years, and it always seemed it was only a matter of time before we ended up together." A sigh leaves her lips and I feel the need to cut in, but curiosity has taken hold of my words, restraining them. "Walter was the reason why I left the Opera Populaire after the performance of _Roméo et Juliette _last month. We were looking at a home in the countryside, scheduled to be leaving in a week. Tonight was the last performance I planned to attend…

"It was Walter's idea really, he thought we should enjoy the benefits of the city while still here. He reserved the box without my knowledge, for I would have explained the danger as he had still be away from the city when all learn how it belonged to only the Opera Ghost, but once we had arrived, I felt it would only be rude to express anything but gratitude. After all, he had only planned everything so I would be surprised and pleased; that seemed to always be his main goal…"

She says more, but I block it out, for I cannot listen to this. To end any sadness or guilt this may bring upon me from this gentlemen's description, I quickly put on an insensitive persona. "Talking about him will not bring him back." I snap bitterly, trying to hide my own jealousy that even someone like her had found someone who loved her so greatly.

Glancing to me once more, I have a feeling I will never forget the childlike look of innocence she is giving me. "You are correct…" She begins with a slight hesitation expressed by her expression, but soon this is replaced by a gentle smile. "But it's worth trying, is it not?"

"No, it most certainly is not. "

"Why such a quick reply Monsieur?"

"Because I do not have time for such foolish games. There is much to be done, much I have to accomplish now that I have returned. You see-"

But she interrupts me once more. "Then you fear that speaking would possibly bring her back?"

This conversation of nonsense laced with deeper meaning is not helping with trying to avoid the diagnoses of insanity, as it is beginning to affect me in a way I cannot ignore. How is she coming up with this? I have to assume that her feminine nature can simply detect the lovesickness through my behavior, but how is she speaking the questions I have asked myself?

Though I know it exposes a weakness, my reply is nothing but the truth. "No, after six months of doing such, I have learned that all it does is release the memories, along with the pain of losing her all over again." My defenses lower a moment, and I share more than I planned. All it did was slowly killed me, tortured me constantly; especially when I laid in my bed, and realized she would never would be my side."

She says nothing and I am grateful for the chance to think. Apparently, my skills at the art of murder go far beyond killing flesh, the conversation has died away into a sudden silence, that is about to be used to my advantage; time for the conversation I have kept her alive for.

"So how about we catch up about the lives about those associated with the grand, old Opera Populaire?" A wicked smirk comes to my face as I tried to step back into my role as the mysterious, murderous Phantom; for it is only when I embrace him can I feel any joy in this situation. "Or if this would be such an issue, if you believe that it would set others up for harm…I am sure the gallant, good-natured, gentleman, Walter, would be delighted if you join him in death…"

--

The threat was unneeded, as I knew she was looking for a way to block out memories as well, and she answers my questions with great detail in rapid succession. I do not understand exactly why she has not questioned me about Christine, about that night, about any my acts as the Opera Ghost, and about her fate, instead of simply standing there, simply answering my questions as if she is voluntarily at my home, as if she is sipping tea with the refined ladies of her social circles. I do not understand this version of Carlotta, I do not understand why she behaves so differently above ground. She would be loved by all if she behaved like a human being with a heart as she is here.

Updates about the lives of countless employees of the Opera Populaire have been quickly given, but now I am beginning to wonder if I really wanted to know. I thought the conversation about hopeless love and the dead fiancé was going to be the most depressing part of this evening, but I have quickly be proven wrong. Stories of sudden deaths and tragic events occurring to those of my opera have been hardly what I expected to hear. Dancers leaving because after the events they no longer feel safe? Firmin's sudden death? Little Giry's running off with a stagehand and no words for months? Madame Giry's departure from the opera as she clearly was unable to cope with her daughter's disappearance? This is simply not how it is suppose to be! I leave my opera house alone for less than a year and they are already running it into the ground?!

But there is no time to think of that now, no time to focus on these people that mean nothing to me compared to Christine. I crave information about her life, and my hours with the woman will end before I realize it, as before dawn, I must figure out what will be done, as her fate rests in my bony hand. "And what about Miss Daaé?" I ask, trying to keep my voice strong. "Or…is she Viscountess De Chagny now?"

"It has become Viscountess De Chagny…" As she says these words I have prayed would never be spoken, I can almost feel the sympathy in her voice; although it is more likely I simply wish for such a thing. "The wedding was small; hardly anyone knew it had even occurred until it appeared in the paper." She sighs and pauses, as if trying to figure out if she should say more, or if she is pushing herself one step closer dying by going on.

"If you have something to add, just say it." I mutter bitterly as I try to sort out my mind once more, try to convince myself that this is the way I knew it would be. I just hoped so badly…I only wished she would return to me; even though I had known it would not be, it had been a fantasy I held onto desperately. And with these thoughts, I can only curse myself, for I still do not seem to fully understand that my wishes will never, come true. Well, at least all of those involving love…my rage reassures me my thirst for revenge and bloodshed will be quenched.

There is a moment of hesitation and then a certain response. "No, that is all Monsieur…the rest I know of are simple petty details."

"And what are these exactly?"

"Were you not the one who claimed talking about others did not bring them back?" Her voice is soft again, lost all strength again. "That it causes more pain; it makes you feel like you are being killed?"

"Yes." I answer coolly, "But do you know what else is worse than speaking of the person that left you all alone in this world? Hoping there is a way to bring them back?"

She nods. "Yes, I can think of a few things-"

"Not a few!" I shout, my voice ringing through the cellar. "There is only one thing worse!" Lowering my volume, I answer my own question, "It makes you remember you are alone, utterly alone and forgotten."

Neither of us speaks, and I feel nothing in this silence, I do not allow myself to feel. As quickly as I can, I build up the floodgate once more to prevent anything more, and sweep the rest into that same dark corner. I realize I could walk over to this woman this second, and force her to tell me these 'petty details' but I suddenly do not think I really want to know them. It changes nothing after all; it would simply at more to this mental fire with I am currently trying to contain. With this mind of mine, with the way I lose control, I am beginning to believe I truly deserve to be alone. Shouldn't I be happy for the young couple? I did send them off with my blessing, but I want to take it back now! It was a mistake! I cannot go on--

"But you aren't." Comes the voice of the prima donna, cutting through my thoughts, "With me here…you aren't alone now…are you?"

"In a way I am."

"What way?"

I'm beginning to realize that one way or another, either with her voice, her persona, or all these questions…La Carlotta must always being extremely unbearable. "No one who wants to be here is here." I answer, realizing what a pathetic answer it is. As soon as the words leave my lips, I wish I could take them back, I wish I could simply have asked her why she asked so many questions, or simply have barked at her to leave me alone. I learned long ago from watching her that Carlotta acts like a bird of prey; she watches for a moment when her opponent is weak and only then attacks.

She is silent once more, and I catch sight of her wide eyes staring at me with a curious expression. Her dainty lips part in preparation to speak, but each time, she hesitates, glancing away as she regains composure. Whether or not she has formed this plot in her mind or if she is simply unsure of what a lady is suppose to say when she is staring at the masked face of a madman, Carlotta is sparking my curiosity; I want to know what she is having such difficulty saying.

"Does it help to know that I am alone as well?" Once more, there is hesitation as her eyes watch the rippling water around her, as if she is unable to look up at the one who took away her peace, who has forced her to be as alone as he. "Do you think any of the people above ground even care for me? Even wish to be around me?" A bitter laugh follows as she shakes her head, "Of course not. The company I have around me is forced as well…just in a different way. Monsieur, I think you may begin to see we share more in common than you have previously believed."


End file.
